


The Little Things

by Thejerkandtheangel



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, character death mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-14 00:26:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4543176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thejerkandtheangel/pseuds/Thejerkandtheangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire and Enjolras survive and Enjolras isn't taking it well even after almost a year. Grantaire stays and tries to be a good boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Little Things

Sometimes, Enjolras felt weak.

He wanted to cry.

He was always brave,

Wore a ‘give ‘em hell attitude’,

And laughed in the face of evil.

\-- I t w o r e h I m d o w n.

 

Stress weighed upon his shoulders like sodden clothing.

Despite his bravado, Enjolras was scared. His stomach felt hollowed out with trepidation; the feeling was similar to that of someone carving him open with a curved spoon, someone taking out his insides, someone throwing the vital organs away, and replacing them with fluttering moths which would soon attempt to climb up his dry throat. Someone stitched him back together, someone sat back and watched him squirm.

Sometimes, Enjolras felt weak

He wanted to puke.

 

Even with days like this, he kept going.

He was brave,

Wore that ‘give ‘em hell attitude’,

And laughed in the face of evil.

\-- I t w o r e h I m d o w n.

Enjolras sat lazily nestled in the curve of Grantaire’s arm, his head lolled gently to the side to rest against the other’s shoulder. They sat on the bed like that for hours, Enjolras staring at the blank wall with an equally blank stare while Grantaire undertook the task of distracting him with smaller things. Things like rubbing amiable circles upon the calloused skin of his leader’s hands. Things like pressing indulgent kisses to the top of his head. It was the little things that caused the smallest of smiles to dance upon Apollo’s lips.

Grantaire didn’t ask what was wrong. He didn’t press the matter. He didn’t have to. He already knew.

Enjolras blamed himself… for their deaths… for not dying with them… for living.

Grantaire didn’t try to get him out of the house, he merely laid with his charge, always present and there for him. Enjolras appreciated it so much more than words could explain, so he didn’t say a thing.

Several times the ex-revolutionary leader would breathe in a small gasp, air catching in his throat for a moment before he curled into his friend. He buried his face into the crook of his friend’s neck, no longer able to smell wine or absinth. It was wrong.. it was all wrong. He should be in the Musain. Surrounded by his friends again, yelling at the one he loved for being drunk at such an important time. But instead, he had his head tucked into that same person’s shoulder, latching onto the white sleeve of the other’s shirt with desperate finger. Enjolras didn’t make a noise after that; silent, hot tears trekked down pale, faintly freckled cheeks. His shoulders didn’t shake with sobs, he didn’t whine or whimper in his stupor. He just… laid there, finding small solace in the calm fingers combing through his hair, or in the hand wiping away his tears.

His mouth tasted like the desert, dry and barren; his tongue, thick where it lay in his mouth. His heavy eyes closed so tight, so tight, illuminated faces of his dead friends floating in the blackness. He counts the seconds until he stops crying. Waits, 1, 2, 3, and the salty liquid falls from once bright blue eyes, screwed shut over again and over again. They roll into his mouth; they stain Grantaire’s clothes with wet sadness. And finally, finally, /finally/, he falls unconscious into much needed sleep

When he wakes, his lover is still there to kiss his nose and the corner of his lips.

Grantaire whispers soft compliments and words of forgiveness and redemption and lays down beside him once again. He holds the other’s hand and taps his fingers lovingly against the back of his knuckles to the rhythm of a familiar song as his voice sings softly in his ear.

It the little things that make Enjolras smile.


End file.
